A/N 1: Before you ask, yes I'm still working on Stars. This one just happened to happen first, and is WAY shorter than the next installment of the Stars series. This fic is mostly done; I'm just putting the finishing touches on it. It was burning a hole in my hard drive and it's the holidays, so...

Merry Christmas, nerds.

A/N 2: This fic is set within the verse of the Pacific Rim film by Guillermo del Toro. If you haven't seen it, I highly recommend it, both for the full enjoyment of this story, and just on principle.

Trigger warnings: This story will deal with some heavy, topical issues. Trigger warnings will be listed on individual chapters as necessary, and safe summaries will be listed at the start of the following update for those who choose skip.

Chapter 1

Jack O'Neill staggered back in his harness and paused, panting heavily as his instruments normalized. In his visual display, Kaiju-codenamed-Alpha bellowed in triumph before charging again. The beast hit like a 200 ton hammer, and Jack's Jaeger Sensei could barely weather the storm. Jack straightened back into a fighting stance. After a slight lag in response, Sensei obeyed. Not good. Jack tapped an inquiry into his keypad, and numbers blinked into his heads-up display in response. Synaptic fibers were partially shorn, limiting Sensei's response time. He needed to end the fight, and quickly. Almost as soon as the thought crossed his mind, Jack's main weapons array went offline. Alpha roared a challenge, pounding the ground a clawed fist as Jack's instruments panel droned an ominous flatline. Quickly, he rerouted power to Sensei's shoulder mounted rail guns, which promptly declined to respond, joining its brethren on the red light brigade. Jack sighed. Fine.

Alpha charged. Jack shifted his stance to receive him. When Alpha slammed into him, Jack carried the momentum up and over his shoulder, rolling to redirect the kaiju's movement past him. He'd hoped to cast the beast aside and give himself room to regroup, but Alpha snagged him with half a dozen claws hooked under the edge of his breastplate. Jack rotated Sensei on top of the grapple, clamping one gauntleted hand under Alpha's chin and pulling to expose the pulsing flesh beneath. Tendons bunched and twisted as Alpha thrashed, snarling as it tried to work its hind legs up to push Sensei away, but JAck didn't budge. He engaged Sensei's elbow rockets and drove the mechanized fist into the beast's throat. Alpha's snarls stuttered under the blow, but it didn't breach the tough hide. Claws raked Sensei's back, scraping fire down Jack's spine as his drive suit carried the impulses to his skin.

Jack shut out the pain, struggling to keep his hold on the kaiju's jaw. His eyes caught on his own gauntlet, and froze. The Jaeger's wrist metalworks were shielded by greaves that extended part of the way across the back of Sensei's hand, and then tapered to a severe point. When the idea struck, Jack didn't hesitate. He lifted his right hand, and Sensei mirrored the action. He pronated Sensei's wrist to expose the point of the wrist gauntlet and on the next blow, buried the point in Alpha's neck, eliciting a scream of anguish from the beast. Jack struck again and again, slowly working his way towards the creature's windpipe. He hit an artery first. Kaiju blue spattered Sensei's vid screen, blinding him just as Alpha thrashed desperately. Jack tightened Sensei's hold and held his breath. Untold heartbeats later, Alpha finally fell still.

"Congratulations, Ranger O'Neill," a mechanical female voice greeted brightly, as the simulator shut down. "This is your 100th simulated kill. A new Academy record."

Overhead lights flipped on, nearly blinding Jack after so long in the darkened simulation chamber. The harness released him, setting him down on his own two feet. "It's not a record when you're here longer than any other recruit, Simms," Jack reminded her. He removed his helmet, and inhaled deeply when cool air met his sweat-slicked skin. "Don't change the leaderboard."

The pilot interface was the only genuine component of the sim-room. Elliptical machines provided the resistance of a Jaeger's machinery, and the drive suit functioned in real time. The only difference was that the Jaeger and Kaiju were computer generated, rendered from composite data from all the kaiju who had climbed through the Breach to date. Almost twenty years since the Breach first opened, Simms had more than enough footage to mine for inspiration.

"Affirmative," Simms responded politely. As the AI who designed the simulated fights, Simms was also in charge of student standings at the Academy. Sometimes she listened. Sometimes she did whatever the hell she wanted. Jack supposed it didn't matter much either way; with all the other students already transferred out, there was no one else to call foul.

"And what the hell happened to my weapons systems?" Jack accused. "Did you really have to kill both of them?"

"You displayed a certain complacency in recent simulations, Ranger O'Neill. Your performance is more intriguing when you are required to improvise."

Jack snorted. He snatched his waiting towel from the prep-bench and scrubbed it over his face, removing the worst of the salt. "Good to know you're as bored as I am, Simms." He headed for the hatch-and a hot shower- but paused before leaving the sim room. "Thanks, though. That was a good drop. I needed it."

"As I predicted when you arrived ahead of schedule," Simms replied drily. Jack chuckled, heading for the door. "O'Neill, there appears to be a Marshal Pentecost waiting for you." The door opened to reveal the Marshal himself before Simms could finish her sentence. Jack snapped to attention and saluted crisply. The Marshal gave him a scan of approval and released him swiftly.

"Ranger O'Neill, that was an impressive run."

Jack swallowed; either Simms had been playing a digital re-enactment of the fight to an empty hall when the Marshal arrived, or Pentecost had deliberately called up the display- which Simms would have known. He barely caught himself from glaring behind him into the empty sim-chamber.

"Thank you, sir," Jack fired off. Then, "You should see what I can do with fully operational systems, sir."

Pentecost smirked. "I doubt it would have been quite as interesting." He paused, then beckoned for Jack to follow him. "Come with me."

"Yes, sir." Jack paused, lingering just long enough for the Marshal to stride out of earshot before turning back to the sim-chamber. "See you tomorrow, Simms."

"I'm afraid that is unlikely," Simms replied. "Good luck, Ranger O'Neill."

The doors closed on the sim-chamber, leaving Jack to trot after the Marshal to catch up. Pentecost led him through painted cinderblock halls to the East Wing. The East Wing was all administration and muckety-mucks, but both the administration and mucks were long gone onto greener pastures. The Marshal entered one of a half-dozen empty offices in Corridor C, and Jack dutifully stepped in behind him. As if mourning the lack of personnel, the walls were painted a matte gray that sucked what little personality was left in the form of motivational and recruitment photos. When Pentecost settled behind the desk, his presence filled the room like he owned the place.

"Have a seat, Ranger," instructed the Marshal. Jack obeyed wordlessly. The drivesuit made sitting uncomfortable; it was designed for movement in a Jaeger, and pinched in inappropriate places when forced into anything more sedentary. He recognized his service record in front of the Marshal as he settled into the uncomfortable visitor's chair. "Ranger O'Neill, your record since joining the Academy six years ago has been exemplary."

"Yes, sir." Jack didn't bother with false modesty anymore. There was none to be had when he'd been at the Academy twice as long as anyone else. At this point, he'd been around longer than some of the instructors, the few that were left.

"The only area you've got a less than perfect score seems to be drift compatibility- you've tested against every recruit to pass through the Academy for four years, and none of them proved to be compatible."

"Many of them were compatible, sir," Jack replied. "Just not with me."

Pentecost revealed a hint of a smile. "As it were." He folded his hands. "The Academy hasn't seen a new recruit in 16 months. Current recruits unable to graduate accepted transfers to other commands. You did not. Why is that?"

"This place has been my home for the past three years, sir."

"You and I both know that is not an acceptable answer, Ranger. Care to try to again?" the Marshal asked.

Jack froze. For a dangerous second he had forgotten who he'd been speaking to. Pentecost wasn't one of the Academy instructors- many of whom Jack outmatched in tenure. Haunting the halls of a defunct training facility had almost made him forget what it was to speak to a superior. Jack straightened in his seat, squaring his shoulders.

"Sir, I tested against almost a hundred candidates, and couldn't find compatibility with any of them. If I leave the Academy, I may never see a Jaeger again; if this is the closest I'll ever come to piloting one, then I'm going to stay as long as I can."

A long silence followed as Pentecost weighed his answer. Jack waited for the inevitable reprimand for being a sentimental fool. As much as he tried to make himself useful around the building, he was superfluous. He should have moved on years ago, but the command had been as desperate to pair him as he'd been to be paired, and they'd held him back again and again. He waited so long, he forgot how to do anything else.

"I have a pilot in a similar situation," Pentecost revealed finally, far from the rebuke Jack anticipated. "High ability, low compatibility. We have a Jaeger waiting, we just need a pair of pilots able to move her." Jack's heart climbed into his throat and lodged there.

"You think I'll be compatible?"

"From what I've seen, I'd say there's a significant chance. But," the Marshal warned, "in order to leave here, you have to graduate. You graduate, you don't come back." Pentecost leveled a solemn look. "Out there, there is no perfect score. If you leave here you may never find the drift. There's no guarantee you'll find it here, either."

Jack hesitated, recalling Simms' parting words. "It's my decision?"

"Of course," came the droll response. "I have no room for pilots who don't want to be there." He met Jack's gaze squarely. "But I'm fairly certain what your decision will be."

Apparently, Simms was equally sure and Jack couldn't fault either of them for their assumption. His waiting was done. "Yes, sir. How soon can we leave?"

"There's a helo waiting. You have 30 minutes to grab your gear and meet me on the tarmac for liftoff."

Jack was changed into his BDUs and on the tarmac with his sea bag with twenty minutes to spare.